


Chain

by crazylittleelf



Category: Fringe
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Doppelcest, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-01
Updated: 2009-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-02 22:42:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazylittleelf/pseuds/crazylittleelf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Olivia is held prisoner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chain

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the kink_bingo prompt: locks/chains.

She has about eight feet, give or take.  Eight feet from the cold wall, to the end of the chain and the semicircle between the two.  Toilet, sink, mattress.  Chain.  Her world condensed.

She isn't at all surprised that the other her is just as fucked up as she is.  It's something she hides well, hints at only in the occasional joke that edges just a bit too far into darkness.  This is, she admits as she rubs her ankle bloody working at the shackle, something she would do.

At first she lunges at the end of the chain when the other her visits.  Daily, she thinks, but never on a set schedule.  She has no way of counting the hours, the days.  She digs at the bolt where the chain attaches to the wall.  The tips of her fingers are bloody, nails torn and ragged.  It's completely pointless but she keeps doing it anyway.  When she tires of that she tries to find a weak point in the chain, tries to pry open the shackle.

Her doppelganger's face is impassive when she draws a gun and shoots her with a tranquilizer dart.  When she wakes, the chain is shifted to a different limb and the raw skin bandaged.  This has happened three times.

When she no longer lunges at the and of the chain, she huddles against the wall.  The other her sits just outside the reach of the chain.  She is patient and Olivia remembers taming feral cats when she was a kid.  Eventually she creeps forward, sits at the end of the chain, opposite herself.  She thinks she's been here a month.  The other her's voice is soothing.  Even in her own mind her voice is rough, harsh.  She hasn't spoken since she screamed herself hoarse the first couple days.

It takes her a while to realize that the other her hasn't been visiting.  She doesn't panic until she runs out of food.

She's sitting on the mattress, knees hugged to her chest, rocking back and forth, chain dangling from her right wrist.  She has a hard time remembering when she ever did anything else.  She doesn't recognize the sound of the door opening, the footsteps hurrying down the stairs, the worried sound of her name being called by her own voice.

It's always cold where she is, slightly damp, and the warmth of the other her brings her out of the place in her mind she has been hiding.  Warm arms around her and her voice whispers apologies.  Her hand feels warm on her face.  She knows she should fight, should grab the other her and try to get away but her thumb strokes over her cheek and she can't look away from her eyes.

Of course she would kiss herself.  They curl together on the mattress and the other her shivers when the chain brushes her side.

When they're finished, she snuggles against her, listens to her heartbeat, listens to her promise that she'll never be away for so long again.  She gives her food, soup that's still warm and those little crackers she loved when she was a kid.  She promises that soon the war will be over.  She shackles the chain to her left wrist and bandages her right.  She promises that she'll take care of her.  She brushes a kiss across her lips.

She believes her.


End file.
